


Roxx Like a Hurricane

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Gen, obvious addiction to caffeinated beverages, questionable taste in music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" meets "Teen Titans."  Sort of.  Without any thinly-veiled racism.  And without most of the other stuff, too.  Wait, let me try again: Beast Boy drinks a lot of cola and drags everyone to a concert.  Oh, now that's just--</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roxx Like a Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> For candy_razorblades@DW. Belated giftfic for services rendered. Thanks to A for the beta.

When Raven wanders into the main room of Titans Tower in search of some tea, she’s surprised to find it bathed in blue light from the large TV — but she’s more surprised to find Beast Boy stretched out atop a pile of plastic bottles.

“What,” she articulates in a precise, flat tone, “are you doing?”

The green-skinned shapeshifter’s stomach is so bloated, it could explode at any moment. Beast Boy opens his mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a warbling belch.

“That’s disgusting.”

“So-rry,” Beast Boy manages around another burp. He makes to push himself into a sitting position, but can't manage it. Raven watches, unimpressed, as his limbs wiggle helplessly for a moment. “Uh … little help?”

With a gesture, Raven disperses the pile of bottles, rearranging the mountain into more of a small pond. Beast Boy splashes into this plastic pond with a yelp. “Robin will freak out when he sees this mess.”

“Nah,” Beast Boy waves a hand reassuringly, “I’m gonna clean before everyone wakes up.”  
Against her better judgment, Raven asks again. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“I’m glad you asked!”

“Oh, great,” Raven sighs. “Why do I sense a zany scheme coming on?”

“I’m trying to win a contest,” Beast Boy goes on, rubbing his round belly. “Lashes for Lentils is in town this week, and they’re giving away free tickets inside bottles of RoxxCola. But only the specially-marked 591-milliliter bottles,” he adds, clearly quoting the commercial. He gives Raven a wide grin. “I can’t afford those kinds of tickets, so I figured I’d—”

“—Spend the equivalent on soda?” Raven finishes for him. She rolls her eyes and walks to the kitchenette to make that cup of tea.

“Nuh-uh,” Beast Boys protests, bounding to his feet and coming to chatter at her. “Have you ever _heard_ Lashes for Lentils? Wait,” he forestalls any reply, “never mind. Forgot who I was talkin’ to. But anyway, these guys are, like, premium punk rock. Their shows sell-out like they’re going out of style! People line up at the box office for days! You gotta be _rich_ to afford good seats!” His voice begins to rise with the whistle of the kettle. “And you _want_ good seats, because then you can see Lash shred right up close!” He starts playing air guitar, doing his best imitation of the band's frontman.

“All right, all right,” Raven concedes, stirring her tea. “So you’re spending your savings on bottles of soda for a concert. I suppose it’s good for you to have a goal. Whatever it may be.”

“Ha, _ha._ ” Beast Boy folds his arms and sticks his nose up at her. “I’ll have you know that drinking gallons of RoxxCola is no small feat. And look at my fingers!” He shoves them under her nose, making her start. “Look how _raw_ they are from trying to get the _stupid_ tabs out from under the caps.”

Raven ducks away, cradling her teacup with both hands. “Riiight. Look, good luck with this whole … thing you’ve got going on here. But you’d better be sure those bottles aren’t crowding the living room in the morning.”

She heads back to her room, ignoring the petulant “I _said_ I’d clean it up!” that follows her.

***

Beast Boy does have it cleaned up by morning, having spent a considerable amount of time filling plastic bags with the empties. He’s dozing on the couch when Cyborg’s monstrous yawn makes him sit up. “Morning!” he chirps, grinning wildly.

“Hey, BB.” Cyborg pauses on his way to the coffee machine, catching (a) glimpse of the bags. “Got a bit of a drinkin’ problem there, do ya?”

“You know it!” He pats his now-flat stomach. “You will not _believe_ how much I had to—”

“Good morning, friends!” Starfire exults from the doorway, hands outstretched and welcoming the new day. Robin, looking only half as awake, squeezes past her and heads for the fridge. “Tell me, what plans do you all have for once we have completed our morning training?”

“Nada,” Cyborg replies.

“Nothing,” Robin answers.

“Meditating,” Raven says, appearing behind the Tamaranean.

“Drinking soda,” Beast Boy says, eyeing Cyborg. “Hey, Cy … remember how I whooped your butt at _Racer X_ the other day?”

Cyborg takes a sip of his coffee. “… Vaguely.”

“ _I_ remember,” Robin quips with a smirk, and ducks the answering swat.

Beast Boy hops over to the taller boy, and grins up at him with what he hopes are puppy-dog eyes. “So then you remember that we played for _favors_.”

Cyborg blinks. “I'm not gonna like where this is going…”

“I need you to drive me to the big convenience store on Forty-third so I can cash in all these bottles,” Beast Boy confesses, gesturing to the bags.

“Why don’t you just wait until garbage day to recycle them?” Robin wonders.

Beast Boy gives the Boy Wonder a sheepish grin. “Because I gotta buy more, anyway?”

“You playin’ us?” Cyborg sputters into his mug. “All that soda, and you didn’t win one lousy ticket?”

“Hey, this is an _epic_ project! It’s already cost me — well, never mind that. But the small change I get from cashing the bottles back will go toward buying more RoxxCola.”

“Un-believeable,” Raven sighs, making another cup of tea.

Starfire cocks her head and taps her chin with one finger. “Beast Boy, these lashes for lentils of which you speak … they are some punishment of sorts?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘punishment,’” Raven mutters.

“They’re a rock band, Star,” Beast Boy replies, staunchly ignoring his other teammate. “So whaddaya say, Cy? Gimme a ride downtown?”

“Sure thing, BB. After my coffee. Though it’ll cost ya two favors,” he adds, demonstrating with two fingers.

Beast Boy blows him a raspberry. “You’re just trying to whittle down the pile you owe me.”

***

“I can’t believe you aren’t the least bit excited that Lashes for Lentils is in town.” Beast Boy sighs, and flings the shopping bag of soda over his shoulder.

Cyborg shrugs. “I don’t know, man, our taste in music just doesn’t jive. Mine is, you know, good.”

Beast Boy socks him in the shoulder. “Anyway, at least I managed to get some more Roxx.”

“I’m surprised,” Cyborg glances behind them. “It looked like that place was cleaned out.”

Beast Boy smirks. “Not quite.” He fishes one bottle out to toast the small victory. “I definitely got the last bottles in this part of town, though.”

“You sure did, you snot-sucking snookers!”

The voice is familiar — nerve-grating and familiar. Reflexively, Beast Boy and Cyborg spin around and are only half-surprised to find Gizmo: the smallest man with the most indomitable ego.

“Well, I’ll _be._ ” Cyborg levels his arm-cannon at Gizmo’s manic expression. “If it ain’t the Hive Five’s resident pipsqueak.”

“What do you want here, Gizmo?” Beast Boy adds, shifting his feet into a ready stance. He keeps his grip on both the bag and the bottle though; no sense in letting those get away just yet.

“Same as you, barf-breath!” Gizmo stamps his foot. “I came to get some RoxxCola, and what do I find? Some greedy, no-good bootlicker just waltzes on in and takes ‘em all!”

“Dude!” Beast Boy recoils, feigning a mortal wound. “Can you blame me? It’s Lashes for _freaking Lentils_ , of _course_ I’m gonna buy them all! Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would, bog-breath! That’s not the _point!_ ”

“Well — wait, what?” Beast Boy blinks, exchanging glances with Cyborg.

“What _is_ the point?” Cyborg chimes in, keeping his cannon at the ready.  
Gizmo balls his hands into fists and stamps his foot again. “It’s not _fair._ You could at least share with me!”

“You off your rocker?” Beast Boy flabbergasts. “My whole savings account spent on soda, and you just want handouts?”

“Some superhero!” Gizmo raises his voice, and Beast Boy notices their little altercation is starting to attract some attention. “Taking advantage of a kid’s poverty and refusing to share!”

“Come _off_ it,” Beast Boy snaps, aware of the bystanders through his peripheral vision. They’re watching with great interest, but wisely haven’t gotten too close yet. “Where are all your wacky gadgets? Why don’t you just try stealing the bottles?”

“Because, dog-drool, I don’t wanna disrespect Lash.” Gizmo clasps his hands together, eyes sparkling. “I want to be worthy enough to see Lash in concert…!”

“Duuude, I knooow,” Beast Boy sighs, miming Gizmo’s pose. “Isn’t he the most amazing person who was ever amazing…?”

Somewhere in the background, Cyborg stands down with a flippant, “Well, this is stupid.”

“Let’s drink,” Beast Boy offers, tossing a bottle to Gizmo. “A toast to Lash and the band.”

“Good idea, nerdlinger.” Gizmo catches the soda. As one, they twist off the caps, chug the cola, toss the bottles into the designated receptacle, and then dig under the cap.

Peeling the tab out turns the ache in his fingers into a throb, but Beast Boy soon forgets the pain when he reads the token.

“Awww, _mudpies!_ ” Gizmo curses, but it barely registers.

 _”Congratulations!”_ the tiny text reads. _”Free Tickets - Winner!”_

“Oh, my god,” Beast Boy manages, already breathing heavier. “Oh. My. God.”

“BB?” Cyborg queries. “You good?”

“I won,” he announces, not even sure if he believes it. “I won! I’m going to see Lashes for Lentils!” he whoops, punching the sky. “I’m going to see Lashes for Lentils! _I’m going to see Lashes for Lentils!_ I’M GOING—”

Gizmo hits him like a punch to the stomach, rams right into shoulder, unbalancing him; then his sternum as he tries to right himself, knocking him flat on his back.

“BB!” he hears Cyborg cry, and then the older boy’s cannon is firing, and there’s something — mechanical — moving….

“Gizmo,” Beast Boy coughs, and gets a hold of himself. He springs to his feet, searching the street for the enemy.

“Up here, dorkuses maximus.” Beast Boy and Cyborg follow the voice, looking up at one of the buildings. Gizmo’s mechanical spider legs have sprouted from his pack, and he holds up something between his thumb and index finger. “Thanks a million, dung-bats! I was just gonna swipe your RoxxCola, but this worked out way better than I could have planned.”

“He stole my token!” Beast Boy cries. He leaps, preparing to morph, but Gizmo anticipates this and fires a missile. The precious seconds it takes them to dodge, and make sure it does as little damage as possible, cost them the advantage. As it is, the projectile weapon hits close enough, with enough force, make the bag of cola explode. By the time Cyborg and Beast Boy surface from the wave of caramel and sugar, Gizmo is already escaping with his jetpack.

“Smell ya later, suckers! I’ll think of you from my middle-center seat!”

Drenched and sticky, Beast Boy bares his fangs. “He _stole_ my token!” he echoes. “We were having a _moment!_ ” A moment between two genuine fans of Lash, and Gizmo dishonored the whole thing. “Not only is he a terrible fan, but he trashed my cred!”

“He totally trashed your cred,” Cyborg agrees, smacking the side of his head, trying to get cola out of his ears. “Obviously, this cannot stand.”

“ _Obviously,_ ” Beast Boy punctuates this by morphing into a peregrine falcon and taking flight.

“Right!” he hears Cyborg faintly, down below. “I’ll just take the car, then!”

***

Gizmo has more than a head-start on them, but Beast Boy doesn’t know the meaning of defeat — not when it comes to matters of honor and rock bands. On the other hand, a bird’s metabolism is _fast_ and he knows he’s going to run out of fuel more quickly than Gizmo’s jetpack. Thinking quickly, Beast Boy decides to improvise.

He puts forth an extra burst of speed, gaining on Gizmo and nearly overtaking him from above. Then he morphs into a tiger and falls, unable to quell the guttural roar that escapes the feline body. He lands on Gizmo’s back, killing the jets in the process.

“GAH!” Gizmo cries, trying to twist around to see him. “What the — are you stupid, you green goon?!”

The jetpack’s exhaust pipes puff and sputter, and then fall silent; time stops for one keen moment.

Gizmo says, “Awww, _nutbars,_ ” and then they’re falling.

Beast Boy demorphs, relatively unconcerned, and gets Gizmo in a choke-hold as they plummet back down to the city. “Give it back!” he demands, hoping the ramifications of refusal are clear.

“You’re gonna kill me for a _concert ticket?_ ” the younger boy shouts back.

“You wanna find out?”

“Yeah!” Gizmo calls his bluff.

Beast Boy doesn’t let go, doesn’t morph. It’s a game of Chicken now, and in a few seconds more it won’t matter who gets the winning cap.

And then — darkness. Beast Boy feels the chill of night flit across his skin, and just as quickly it’s gone — and so is Gizmo, and the street is rushing up to meet him.

Acting on reflex alone, Beast Boy morphs into a hummingbird, flapping his wings for all he’s worth. It’s a moment or two before he’s no longer disoriented, and realizes what’s happened when he notices the T-Car below.

“BB!” Cyborg shouts, waving him down.

Beast Boy hovers above the car, demorphs and collapses into the front seat. “Whew! What a rush!”

“What happened?” Cyborg wants to know, scanning the sky for any sign of their nemesis.

“Kyd Wykkyd happened,” Beast Boy complains. “He managed to nab Gizmo — and my ticket — and get away, leaving me to make a green pizza on the sidewalk.”

Cybor’s lips twist into a sneer. “Rude.”

“I know, right?” Beast Boy deflates, feeling utterly defeated. “Now what am I gonna do?”

“We’ll never catch ‘em,” Cyborg laments. “We don’t even know where they went? And we aren’t crashing Hive Academy for concert tickets, sorry.”

Beast Boy sighs and curls into a ball. “It’s not fair. I was so close. I _had the winning cap_. It’s just, totally not fair.”

“I know, man,” Cyborg offers. He turns the T-Car around and heads home. “I know.”

***

“You got into a fight downtown over a bottle-cap?” Raven's incredulity is palpable. “Unbelievable.”

“Poor Beast Boy,” Starfire comforts him, rubbing his back. “You were most excited for these lentils, were you not?” She clenches her free hand into a fist. “The Hive Five should pay for this; Gizmo didn't the play the game fairly!”

“We can’t go running off, guns blazing, for something like this,” Robin reminds her from Beast Boy’s other side. He has his notebook on his lap, clicking through various statistics only he understands. “It’s not that I don’t sympathize, but if we start waging war on Hive Academy for little things—”

“It’s not a little thing!” Beast Boy snaps, sitting up straight. “It’s _not_ a _little_ thing! You guys _never_ take anything that's important to me seriously and I'm sick of it! I really wanted to go to this concert. I _love_ Lashes for Lentils. And most importantly, I _won_ that ticket fair and square — and Gizmo _stole it._ ”

“H-hey, Beast Boy,” Robin ventures, taken aback by the conviction. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He closes the laptop and sets it aside, and even in his anger Beast Boy appreciates the gesture. It’s hard to get Robin to put work aside for … anything, really.

“…Yeah,” Raven adds, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“This music is so important to you?” Starfire wonders. “How awful of Gizmo! Shall I sing a Tamaranean melody for you, instead?”

“No thanks, Star,” Beast Boy sighs. “I appreciate it, but nothing can compare to seeing Lash onstage. And now I’ll never get to.” Despair settles in again, and he flops sideways into the alien’s lap.

“Oh, but this must not be so!” Starfire frets. “Lash and his lentils sound very much like a performance to which I would love to bear witness, as well.”

“You totally should,” Beast Boy mumbles. “If they ever come back here, that is.”

“No, I mean now!” Before Beast Boy can react, she moves him aside so she can sit next to their leader. “Robin, may we attend this lentil performance?”

Robin twiddles his thumbs, looking for an escape route. “Star, I’m really not into … I mean, it wouldn’t be right to just—”

“To just what?” she muses, a slight edge to her voice. “Is it not an event to which you would take your friend who is a girl?”

Robin slides further away. “W-well, it’s just—”

“You know,” Cyborg says, entering the living room, “somethin’ I’ve been thinkin’ about: why does Gizmo want to see Lashes for Lentils, anyway?”

“He has no taste?” Raven offers.

“More than that. What if the Hive Five are up to something? Huh?” Cyborg needles. “Shouldn’t we be there _just in case_ something happens?”

“Good luck,” Beast Boy mutters. “No tickets to be had at this point.”

“A most excellent idea,” Starfire agrees, and turns back to Robin. “Don’t you think so?”

After a long minute, Robin exhales a suffering sigh. “All right, we’ll go. But we’re on duty first, and spectators second, got it?”

“Got it,” Beast Boy says automatically. Then it catches up to him. “Waitaminute!” He leaps to his feet and bounds across the couch to stand over their leader. “What do you mean, ‘we’ll go?’ How can we go? There are no tickets!”

Robin looks vaguely uncomfortable, and shrugs one shoulder. “I know someone who knows someone.”  
Beast Boy’s jaw hits the floor.

“Well, that’s fantastic,” Raven says. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be cherishing the silence between now and the concert.”

“Glorious!” Starfire exults. “What shall I wear? Perhaps a journey to the mall will offer some ideas,” she answers herself. “Oh, I am so excited! Thank you, Robin!”

The Boy Wonder rubs the back of his head. “Yeah. Uh, no problem. Okay, Titans,” he continues, sounding much less flustered, “I’ll make the arrangements for Friday night. Clear your calendars.”

Robin and Starfire head out, leaving Cyborg and Beast Boy alone. The taller boy gives Beast Boy a grin.

“Well, that’s another favor down, I think.”

Beast Boy is still stunned.

“Close your mouth, dude; you’ll catch flies.”

***

“This is incredible!” Starfire shouts over the crowd. She’s wearing a Lashes for Lentils t-shirt and has since procured a small pile of edgy punk jewelry. “Why have I never been to such a performance before?”

To Starfire’s left are Robin and Raven. The former is somewhere between being bored and trying not to be bored for someone else’s sake. The latter is openly bored, having stuffed earplugs into her ears and opened a book as soon as she sat down. Beast Boy is on Starfire’s right, his mind still blown over their third-row-center seats.

“Wicked seats, Rob!” he yells across the redhead. “How’d you _pay_ for these?!” Robin doesn’t hear him. Or pretends not to.

“Sweet seats!” Cyborg shouts into his ear. “Feel better now?”

“Much!” He can’t stop grinning, hasn’t been able to since Wednesday. The opening act just wrapped up and Lashes for Lentils are moments away from hitting the stage. Beast Boy thinks of Gizmo, probably somewhere toward the back. He's almost glad the little menace stole his tickets; Robin's seats are much better.

Some of the stage lights come back on, revealing silhouettes of the band. The crowd goes wild, and Beast Boy claps so hard he thinks maybe his fingers will fall off. The frontman — _gotta be Lash!_ — grabs the microphone and lets his guitar hang freely from around his shoulder.

”Jump City,” he says, soft tenor reverberating through the concert hall, “are you ready to rock?”

 _”And ROLL!”_ another voice returns, louder and disembodied — coming from everywhere. Lash starts, glancing upward. His evident confusion makes Beast Boy and the rest of the crowd stop applauding.

“There!” Robin points. They follow the shadows flying in from the rafters to the stage, jumping to their feet when they realize what’s going on.

“What the—?!” is all Lash manages before he’s knocked to the floor.

The rest of the stage lights come on, spotlighting three-fifths of the Hive Five in their own Lashes for Lentils t-shirts. “Lash!” Gizmo greets him with a wave. “Gizmo. Huge fan. Can I jam with you?”

“Wha?” the frontman manages, face pale against his flaming red mohawk.

Seemore and Kyd Wykyyd flank their shortest member and fold their arms. “Better let ‘im,” the cyclops threatens. "You don't know what he went through to get tickets to this show." Then he turns his menacing eye on the crowd. “And you all better sit tight and enjoy it!”

“Well,” Cyborg says. “This is stupid.”

“Lash!” Beast Boy cries. “They totally crashed his stage!”

“Rude,” Raven puts in.

Robin signals the charge. “Titans, GO!”

Say one thing for the citizens of Jump City, Beast Boy thinks as he uses the backs of chairs as leverage, say that they are accustomed to even the most mundane activities turning into battlegrounds. He even catches one “Not again” from someone he leaps over.

“Keep them contained to the stage,” Robin orders, “but get the band to safety first. Raven, take care of Kyd. Starfire, get Lash and his band out of there. Cyborg, get Seemore. Beast Boy, with me.”

“Roger,” Beast Boy replies, and morphs into a gorilla.

“Titans!” Gizmo yelps, leaping back as Starfire streaks by. “How’d you get in?!”

Beast Boy answers by throwing a punch. Gizmo dodges, and counters with a taser to Beast Boy’s underarm. The shock forces him to revert, but the movement gives Robin an opening. Once one gets past Gizmo’s mechanical defenses, he isn’t so tough. One well-timed jab with a bo staff is all it takes.

“URGH!” Gizmo grunts, and once he hits the floor, Beast Boy morphs into a tiger and pounces, keeping him pinned. “Guh,” he croaks. “This is sickeningly familiar. Get off me, you green gobber!”

The protests continue, but Beast Boy tunes them out. Cyborg shows up with Seemore in tow, the latter sporting one very black eye. Raven appears moments later with Kyd Wykyyd encased in one of her telekinetic prisons.

“Good work, everyone,” Robin says, collapsing his staff. “Let’s get these goons put away and apologize to the band.”

“Apologize?” Lash echoes, returning with Starfire and his bandmates. “Mate, you ain’t serious?” He scratches his head. “I’ll admit I’m … really not sure what exactly happened here tonight, but I don’t think you guys are the ones who should be apologizing.”

It takes all Beast Boy has not to demoprh and grovel at Lash’s feet. His hold on Gizmo gives him a reality check, but he can't stop himself from making moon-eyes at his idol.

“Thanks,” Robin says. “Just doing our job, though. Still,” he gestures to the crowd, “your stage is kind of messed up now. Show’s kinda ruined for tonight.”

“We can’t seem to do anything quietly,” Cyborg adds.

Lash waves a hand. “We’re in town for a few days. There’ll be another show tomorrow night.” He flashes them a winning smile. “I want you all to be here, of course. Front-row-center.”

Beast Boy turns his wobbly tiger eyes on Robin. Their leader gives him a wry grin. “No thanks, we’ll stick to our own seats. It wouldn’t be fair to the other audience members. But,” he adds, thumbing in Beast Boy’s general direction, “our friend here would love to get your autograph.”

Lash turns to look at him, and Beast Boy nearly _dies._ “Consider it done, mate. How do backstage VIP passes sound, too?”

This time, Beast Boy _totally_ dies.

***

When the Titans finally make it home, it’s the wee hours of Sunday morning.

“I am totally beat!” Cyborg claims. “Please tell me we aren’t training tomorrow morning.”

“A day off,” Robin promises. “Lash is a pretty nice guy,” he adds to Beast Boy. “I had a good time talking to him.”

“He totally is,” Beast Boy agrees, still star-struck. “And he signed everything I brought him. He is so cool.”

“I’m glad you had fun,” Raven says, brushing past everyone and heading to her room. She's been rubbing her temples since they left the amphitheater. “Even if it will be days before I stop hearing the music in my head.”

“Some of Lash’s music is reminiscent of a certain folk song on Tamaran,” Starfire explains. She hugs Robin’s arm. “Oh, you must let me perform one for you one day!”

“ _Folk_ song?” Robin sputters. The redhead on his arm keeps smiling, though, and he relents. “O-of course.”

“Y’know what I could go for right now?” Beast Boy asks. “RoxxCola.”

 

~end


End file.
